


White Knights

by Elvaron



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvaron/pseuds/Elvaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Simon and Alys marry, and Ivan gets a step-father, and siblings, and the joys and tragedies of family. Warnings for angst everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha) in the [2011_bujold_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2011_bujold_fest) collection. 



Ivan was five when they told him he was going to have a Da.

A Da! He understood, in a vague sort of way, that he already had a Da, one who had gone off to be a hero in the War, and they said it was a hero thing not to come back. But Ma sometimes looked a bit sad when she said that, and other people like Cousin Miles had Das who had fought in wars and were heroes and _they_ had come back. But Cousin Miles needed his big strong Da to carry him around because Cousin Miles was so small, so maybe Cousin Miles was special – but then again Cousin Miles was _always_ special.

But then he remembered that Cousin Gregor didn't have a Da either, _or_ a Ma, and Cousin Gregor was supposed to be Emperor of Barrayar when he grew up, so maybe it the people who didn't have a Da who were special, and the people who didn't have a Ma were really special, which was really quite sad. But that meant he was special, and got him wondering whether he would be less special when he got a Da.

"Ivan?" Ma said, and she looked a little worried, like she was asking for his permission, but Ma never asked for his permission, because she was, well, his _Ma_.

"Will I be less special because I have a Da?" he blurted out, because he did want a Da – Das were fun and they brought you out and they carried you on their shoulders and they played with you and told you stories. Or at least Uncle Aral did that with Cousin Miles, and it obviously only worked when you were someone's Da, because Uncle Aral was just plain scary as an uncle.

Ma had a strange look on her face, like he had said something funny, but she also looked sad, so it was very confusing. "Ivan," she said, and she put her arms around him. "You will always be special. You'll be extra special, because you'll have two fathers."

 

It was only a while later that he found out _who_ his Da was going to be. He hadn't really thought about it – he had just thought that his Da would be _his_ Da, someone unique. He hadn't thought that maybe Das had to come from somewhere, or in this case, some _one_.

And so when Ma told him that the someone in question was Uncle Simon, Ivan wasn't so sure that he wanted a Da any more.

Uncle Simon, like Uncle Aral, was scary. He wasn't even a Da to someone else, so Ivan wasn't very sure how good a Da he would be. Everyone knew that Uncle Aral was the scary one who would eat you if you didn't finish your vegetables or go to bed when you were supposed to, but Uncle Simon was the one who would send his boogeymen to hunt you down if you snuck out of bed at night or if you went to the caravanserai or anywhere you weren't supposed to go. And Ivan knew that as a fact, because he had snuck out of the house one night without his ImpSec bodyguards (and it was all Cousin Miles' fault), and Uncle Simon's boogeymen had come after him. Uncle Simon hadn't yelled, but his voice had gone so cold that it felt like opening the window in the middle of winter just as a gust of wind came blasting through. And Uncle Simon was scary because he remembered _everything_ , like the time Ivan had fought with Cousin Miles and tried to hit him and Bothari had nearly pulled his arm off for that.

But Uncle Simon was very polite to Ma, and Ma was happier when he came by. And Uncle Simon was good at telling stories. He didn't tell stories much, but when he did they were good stories, funny ones about Uncle Aral when he had been young. And if Uncle Aral were there, Uncle Aral would groan and tell him off for bringing those up, and Aunt Cordelia would laugh, and Ma would smile.

So maybe Uncle Simon would be a good Da too, although he was probably too skinny to carry Ivan on his shoulders.

Ivan supposed he didn't mind, and everyone said it was a good time for Uncle Simon to become a Da because the Komarr Revolution had ended and Uncle Simon had a lot more free time.

 

So Uncle Simon and Ma got married in the spring - because getting married was apparently something you needed to do before you became a Da - and Ivan got to carry the rings. It was the first time he saw Uncle Simon _really_ smile, not that funny smile he got when things weren't funny at all.

And Da moved in, and Ma got him to promise not to have his boogeymen everywhere, so they stayed outside the house.

And Ma stopped wearing grey, and it seemed like that was a really good thing.

 

In the winter of that year, Da drove him and Ma to ImpMil, where they showed him a big glass tube called a uterine replicator. It took him a couple of tries to get the word right, while was annoying because he knew Da was laughing at him even though he didn't seem to be laughing, because Da remembered everything and of course it was easy for him.

Then Ma told him that the uterine replicator was actually for his little brother, or little half-brother, and Ivan had forgotten all about Da laughing at him.

Cousin Miles didn't have a brother, or even a half-brother. Cousin _Gregor_ didn't have one either. He would be the first to have a brother, and it had to be fun, because brothers could play with you, and maybe Ma wouldn't scold him so much if she had someone else to scold, and Da – well, he didn't know what Da would think, but Da didn't seem to get upset much, and maybe becoming a Da had helped, because he wasn't as scary any more.

 

They spent a lot of time at ImpMil after that, him and Ma, because Da was always at work. His little brother didn't look like much of a little brother yet – he was so small and curled up like a bean. The doctors showed him pictures and charts, and he could see his little brother growing bigger, but it would be months before he was ready. Ivan asked why couldn't they just make him grow faster, and the doctors laughed and told him that some things take time, and Ma scolded him and told him that he needed to learn patience.

It was on one of those visits to ImpMil that he discovered that there was a name on the lid of the replicator, and it read Adrian Leonid Illyan.

"Not Vorpatril?" he asked Ma, and Ma shook her head and said that this was how it worked.

"But then he won't be Vor?" Ivan asked, because having Vor in your name was how people knew you were Vor, and there were all these people who said that not being Vor would be a terrible thing. But Ma said it was alright, his little brother would be Illyan and that would be just as good, because no one would mess with Da, and he was in a class of his own, whatever that meant.

Ivan thought about it a bit, and told Cousin Miles, and Cousin Miles said that Aunt Cordelia wasn't Vor either and it all worked out okay.

 

Winter became spring again, and started easing into summer. There came a week where Da didn't come home at all. There were times when Da didn't come home for a day or sometimes two, but he had never been away for so long. Ma said that it was because he was stuck in the Residence doing work, and Ivan made a face. It hardly seemed fair – it was like his Da wasn't taking this Da thing _seriously_. What was the point of getting married to Ma if he wasn't going to come home?

When Da called on the commconsole that evening, he looked tired. At least there was commconsole, Ivan thought – the Time of Isolation must have been awful, without commconsoles to talk to people. Ma looked a bit hopeful when Da called, but when Da apologised and said that he wasn't coming home tonight either, Ivan decided that enough was enough.

"You're always at work," he snapped. "What are you so busy with?"

Da blinked at him, and Ma said " _Ivan_ " in that tone of voice that meant trouble, but Ivan wouldn't be stopped.

"I can't say," Da said. "It's classified."

"That's what you always say!" Ivan said, "And you can't be busier than Uncle Aral and _he_ sees Cousin Miles everyday!"

"Uncle Aral lives in the Residence," Ma snapped. "And you will stop speaking to your father in that manner, and apologise immediately."

"Why can't we live in the Residence either?" Ivan asked. "I mean, it's not like they don't have space. They have lots of space."

Ma opened her mouth to tick him off for not apologising straightaway, but Da beat her to it. "A fair point," he said. "Perhaps you could visit for a few days?" He was looking at Ma.

Ma worked in the Residence too, sometimes, but not as much as Da. It seemed only fair – everyone who worked in the Residence should be able to stay in the Residence, like Uncle Aral and all of Cousin Gregor's armsmen.

"I'll think about it," Ma said, and her tone made it clear that she was still mad. "And we're still waiting for your apology, Ivan."

"Sorry," Ivan mumbled, but he couldn't help but feel a bit smug. He'd done something! He'd gotten Da to – what was the word - _concede_. This sort of thing only ever happened to Cousin Miles, but maybe it wasn't so hard after all. Maybe it just took some getting used to.

"Sorry for what, Ivan?" Ma said.

"Sorry about yelling," Ivan said, and then because he couldn't help himself, he blurted out, "But it was the right thing to do, right?"

From the look on Ma's face, that was _not_ the right thing to say.

 

Ma decided to visit and stay over at the Residence for a day or two. Before they left, they dropped by ImpMil to visit little brother again. Little brother was still so small, and Ivan couldn't help but wonder out loud if little brother was going to turn out like Cousin Miles, and he really hoped not.

That was when the doctors went into long explanations that Ivan couldn't really understand, about how Cousin Miles had been poisoned, and Ivan learnt that before uterine replicators Mas carried their babies in their _stomach_ , which just seemed weird – where would all the food go? – and Ma and Da had decided to use a replicator because of the horrible things that had happened to Cousin Miles.

"But you were born by natural birth," said the doctor, and Ivan went "eww" and made a face--

 

\--and that was when all the lights went out.

"Ma?" Ivan asked, looking around for her, because she had been talking to a doctor at the other end of the room. But everyone was suddenly shouting or talking or asking what was going on, and no one seemed to have any answers, and the doctors were saying to make sure that the replicator had swapped over to battery power, and there were people fumbling in the dark and he couldn't find his Ma.

"Ma?" he asked again, and someone knocked into him, and he thought he heard his Ma. He tried to get to the side of the room like Da had told him to do, to hang onto tables or chairs so he wouldn't be knocked over. Then the door opened and there were torchlights and Da's boogeymen - _ImpSec men_ , telling everyone to stay calm and evacuate immediately.

"But the replicator--" said a doctor, and ImpSec said that they would get it, and that they had to move now. The adults were shoving him everywhere and it was all that he could do not to be knocked over.

"Ma!" he called out again, and then Ma was there, just visible in the torchlight, and she swept him up.

"Stay close to me," she said, "And don't let go."

He clung onto Ma as the ImpSec men tried to get them to go - _this way, Lady Vorpatril_ , but Ma wouldn't go until she saw that they had taken the replicator, so one of the ImpSec men grabbed it, and then they started moving towards the door.

Then everything exploded.

 

He didn't even see what happened, only that there was too much light and sound. The ImpSec men shoved Ma to the floor and Ma shoved him to the floor, and then there was the sound of stunner fire or disruptor fire, and the ImpSec men yelling at them to get up and move move move.

 _Where's Da?_ he thought, in a moment of terror, as Ma pulled him to his feet and ran with him. Das were supposed to protect you when things went wrong, that was what they all said. And his Da was in charge of security, and so he was supposed to make sure that everyone was safe. And maybe it took a while for him to get here from the Residence, but he would be here to make sure that everyone was alright, right?

He didn't know where the ImpSec men were taking them. All the lights were still out, and no one would answer any of his questions. Ma just shushed him and told him that they were going somewhere safe, and when he asked whether Da would be there, she didn't reply.

They ran down the stairs, because the elevators weren't working any more. His mouth was full of the taste of smoke and his ears kept ringing, and every time he heard the sound of energy weapons firing he jumped. But Ma was calm, and so he tried to be calm as well. He was Vor, after all, and he was supposed to be the man in the family since Da wasn't around, so he shouldn't be scared. _Couldn't_ be scared. Vor were supposed to be warriors, and he was sure that they didn't have that horrible crawling feeling of fear down their backs.

So he took deep breaths and told himself that he only needed to hold on until Da came, and Da would make everything right. He couldn't get his heart to stop beating so fast, though, but he supposed that was okay because no one else could tell.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, but finally they reached the bottom and there was a door and the ImpSec men went through first.

"All clear," he reported, and then another ImpSec man guided Ma and him out the door. They were just outside ImpMil now, in the garden near the back. It was bright daylight out here, and it hurt his eyes and made him squint, but he held onto Ma's hand and ran after her.

They were almost to the exit when the disruptor fire started again.

The ImpSec man moved immediately – Ivan swore he didn't even see him move – shoving him and Ma down behind a stone bench and returning fire. Ivan ducked down and pressed his fingers into his ears, telling himself that he couldn't be scared, and all the while wishing that Da was here, because everyone was scared of Da.

He saw the ImpSec man carrying the replicator, and tried to signal to him that they were over here. The ImpSec man turned towards them, and then he jerked horribly, once, twice, blue fire sparking over him. _He's hurt_ , Ivan thought, as the ImpSec man took one more step, then collapsed to the ground, twitching.

"Get up!" Ivan yelled at him. "You have to get up!" But he wasn't getting up, and that was when Ivan realised that he was _dead_.

 _Da,_ he thought, staring at the replicator and his little brother just lying there, all alone and helpless. _Da you have to save him, you're his Da!_

But nothing happened, and the ImpSec men were still firing, and that was when Ivan realised that his Da wasn't going to come.

 _So that's why he's not Vor,_ he thought, feeling a bit numb. Which meant that he would have to be Vor instead, and _he_ would have to protect his little brother, because that was what Vor did.

So he jumped to his feet, preparing to dash to where the replicator was just lying there on the ground, in the grasp of the dead ImpSec man. But before he could take a step, Ma yelled "Ivan!" and grabbed him and pushed him back down, and he struggled against her saying that he had to rescue his little brother, because no one was going to rescue him, and Da wasn't coming, and Da's boogeymen weren't invincible like he had always thought, and Ma was saying no, _no_ you're not allowed, you have to stay here.

And while he was struggling against Ma's grip, he saw the horrible blazing beam of a plasma arc rake the ground near the replicator... and then it exploded in a shower of molten glass and steam.

Ivan stopped struggling. Ma didn't scream. Ma's grip on his shoulders tightened until Ivan was sure that her fingers would leave bruises, but he didn't dare to tell her to let go. All he could do was stare at the ruins of the replicator, and even though he didn't really know how it worked, he was quite sure that it wasn't working any more, and that little brother would be in deep trouble. "Ma--" he said, and his voice came out as a squeak. The ImpSec man beside them was saying "I'm so sorry, my lady--" and there was a blast, far too close, and the ImpSec man jerked horribly as well and fell over.

There was a sudden silence. Ivan glanced at his Ma, and his Ma's face was terrible to behold, her jaw clenched tight and a strange fire burning in her eyes. He saw her reach over to pry the disruptor from the ImpSec man's hand and as they heard footsteps nearing the bench that they were hiding behind, she stood up, the disruptor in her hand, and shot the enemy who had been approaching them in the face.

The man made this horrible, gurgling scream, and Ivan had to resist the urge to clap his hands over his ears again. That was when he saw the other one aiming at Ma from across the garden, and he did what he had seen the ImpSec men do, which was grab Ma and try and push her to the ground.

It was harder than it looked, and she stumbled but didn't fall, but it was enough that the stunner beam sliced past them and hit the wall instead, and in that moment, Ivan saw another disruptor beam from somewhere near the gate lance across the garden to hit the man square in the chest.

Then dark-suited ImpSec men were fanning out across the compound, and everyone was firing again, and Ivan was trying to tell his Ma "get down, get down". But there was someone else running towards them, and Ma turned to aim the gun at him... then the gun dropped from her hand.

" _Simon_ ," she said, and Ivan realised it was Da, who was here at last, but way too late. He saw Da glance briefly at the ruined replicator, but Da didn't even look _sad_ when he saw it, just put an arm around Ma's shoulders and held a hand out towards him.

Ivan clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head.

"This way," Da said, urgently, even though people had stopped shooting, and still Ivan couldn't bring himself to take Da's hand.

"You were too late," he said, and something flashed across Da's face. Then Ma took his hand instead, and said "this way, sweetheart", and they were running again.

No one shot at them again. They made it into the armoured car, and Da didn't even ride with them, but by then Ivan was too tired to care. Ma was holding onto him and wouldn't let him go, and he curled up on the seat beside her as they drove in silence.

 

Later, Da explained that he had not been able to leave the Residence because they had thought that Komarran terrorists would also go after the Emperor. But ImpSec had stopped those terrorists long before they reached the Residence, they just hadn't stopped the ones who had gone after ImpMil.

"Were they after Ma and I and little brother?" Ivan asked, and Da nodded slowly. ImpSec had told them that little brother was dead, but Da's face was still blank, no sign of being upset.

"But why?" Ivan said.

"They were hoping to use you as hostages to get back at me," Da said, and his voice was very soft, very tired.

That was when Ivan realised that he was mad. "Little brother is dead. You don't care, do you," he said, and he knew that Ma would really scold him for that, but some things had to be said. And at last he saw the blank look on Da's face give way to guilt.

"I'm sorry, Ivan," Da said, but Ivan knew that would never bring his little brother back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep breath. Apologies for all the drama and the angst - I'll hopefully make up for that in the next part or two! I need to stop it with these terribly long fills...
> 
> Many thanks to Tel also for the very useful timeline, which was a great point of reference.


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan was seven when his second half-brother was born.

Ivan was seven and older and wiser, and knew a little more about how the world worked. He knew that terrorists went after important people, and friends and family of important people. Which was why it was necessary for important people to have armsmen and guards, and why ImpSec's job was so important.

And now he knew that he and Ma were important people, because if Gregor died and Uncle Aral died and Cousin Miles died, he, Ivan, could be the next Emperor of Barrayar.

And when he quietly told this to Cousin Miles, Cousin Miles said that he thought that it would be more fun to be Vortala the Bold, and it wasn't so fun to be Emperor because you had to do all kinds of stuffy things like talk to people during meetings.

And whenever Ivan thought about being Emperor he thought about plasma arc fire in the garden, and he thought it was bad enough being fourth in line for the throne; being Emperor must be a million times worse. And so when they opened the replicator lid on Aral Padma Illyan, and Ivan got to hold him in his arms for the first time, Ivan solemnly told him that he would always keep him safe, and he wouldn't let anything happen to him the way it had happened to little brother Adrian. And if it meant always keeping Cousin Gregor safe, and not being Emperor, then that was what he would do.

When little Aral came home, Ivan had been preparing himself to be jealous of all the attention that his little brother would get from everyone, including Ma. Especially Ma. But then he saw how Ma's face brightened when she held him, and even his step-father – he didn't call him _Da_ any more, except when he forgot – lost some of the grimness that had never gone away since That Day. And he thought that it really wasn't so bad after all. Ma had been so sad and quiet since That Day, and the nine long months when little Aral had been in the replicator had been the longest of all, ImpSec on high alert and everyone panicking at the smallest thing. But now they were home. Home and safe, even if he still had nightmares of That Day sometimes.

 

Ivan was ten when his little sister was born.

They called her Alessa Sophia Illyan, but Ivan always called her Lessa, and he and little Aral would solemnly watch over her while she slept, at least until Ma came to chase them to bed. Ivan made Aral promise that he would look after Lessa always, but Aral hadn't understood what "promise" meant, and Ivan didn't quite know how to explain it. "It's Vor," he said, but Aral hadn't understood "Vor" either. Cousin Miles tried to explain it too, but Aral had stared at them with big eyes until Aunt Cordelia came to take Cousin Miles home.

Long after Cousin Miles had gone, Ivan sat in his room and thought about what being Vor really meant. He knew what the books said that Vor was – the Vor had been warriors, a long time ago. The Vor were supposed to protect the Imperium. But now so many people were Vor, girls too, and he couldn't imagine girls protecting the Imperium. Except maybe Ma, but Ma was special that way. Everyone said so.

He had heard other people say that there were Vors and there were Vors – once or twice he had heard of "High Vors", and supposed that that meant that there had to be "Low Vors" somewhere. And he wasn't meant to know about it, but he knew that there were People who believed that Ma shouldn't be High Vor, especially since she had married outside the Vor. And it made sense, in a horrible way that he had only just started to notice. No one called Ma "Mrs Illyan", but he knew that ladies took the surname of the family that they married into, not the other way around. And maybe everyone still called her "Lady Vorpatril" or "Lady Alys" because they were just being polite, but maybe everyone still secretly thought that she shouldn't be a Vor any more.

Which wasn't _fair_. Ma was just as Vor as the rest of them. Probably more Vor. Ma had shot someone in the _head_.

And maybe Aunt Cordelia said that it wasn't important to be Vor, but Aunt Cordelia was very special, and besides she was Vor herself. Probably High Vor too. Maybe even Very High Vor, because he couldn't imagine Uncle Aral being anything else. And he was sure that there were many other people who cared very much about whether you were a Vor or not – many of Ma's friends were certainly like that.

But when he tried asking Ma quietly about it – about whether they were still Vor or not, all Ma would say was "Of course you're Vor, dear. Don't fret about it" and sent him off to do his homework. And so he didn't ask her about it again.

And so the seasons and the years turned, and together with little Aral and Lessa they played Ceta Invaders with Cousin Miles and Elena all around the Residency and Vorkosigan House. They made a good team, him and Aral and Lessa. Team Vorpatril. And even if Cousin Miles was downright sneaky and got them into all kinds of trouble, at least he always had his brother and his sister to back him up. And the nightmares got fewer and further between, although they never really went away forever.

 

Ivan was fourteen when little Aral asked him about his other brother.

Ivan had been in the midst of trying to construct a model spaceship, and the innocent question - _Who is Adrian, brother?_ \- had been enough to trigger a flashback so strong that for a few moments all he could see was plasma fire and shattered glass. When he came back – just a matter of seconds later, but it felt like years – the model was on the ground and Aral was trying to pick up the pieces, a worried look on his face.

"Brother?" Aral said, and Ivan shook off the ghosts of the past with an effort, cracking a smile before turning to look at him. He met Aral's eyes, wide and solemn, and even as his mind searched desperately for a way to tell the truth to a seven year old in a way that wouldn't be too shocking, Aral beat him to it. "He's d-... gone, isn't he?" his brother said, and it wasn't a question.

The next day, Ivan brought him down to the cemetery, and showed him the little memorial tablet. Then he showed him how to light an offering, both of them tossing their hair clippings into the little brazier that Ivan had brought along. They watched the smoke rise into the evening sky, and Ivan sat beside Aral and told him everything he knew. Aral nodded thoughtfully but said nothing, twirling a blade of grass around his finger.

"If your father hadn't married Ma, maybe none of this would have happened," Ivan said, watching the flames dance.

"If Da hadn't married Ma, neither Adrian nor I nor Lessa would have been born at all," Aral said.

It was true, Ivan thought, but that didn't make it any easier. "But it's alright," he said instead, "Because I'll protect you and together we'll protect Lessa."

Aral nodded, ever so solemn, and Ivan put an arm around his shoulders.

 

Ivan was fifteen when he had the huge fight with his step-father.

It had been building for a while, not least because of Gregor's impending and all-significant twentieth birthday. His mother had been stressed. His step-father had been stressed too, and Ivan had heard the arguments with his mother, the ones that went on late at night when they thought he wasn't listening. Sometimes they apologised. Sometimes they didn't. Ivan began to loathe going home, because the moment he stepped through the door the tension came crashing down on his head and made him want to tear his hair out. He _hated_ it when mother was miserable.

The last straw came when his step-father decided to interfere with his social life.

True, he was supposed to have returned home for dinner, instead of somehow being kidnapped into to a party. And when the party had turned into a drinking competition, he really should have extricated himself instead of going on a stagger through the woods with Lady Katrina Vorvolk. Which had turned into a tumble in the woods. Which was where ImpSec found him the next morning, along with a monster of a hangover.

To his step-father's credit, he allowed Ivan the chance to sleep off the worst of the hangover before he commenced the yelling, although "yelling" in Simon Illyan's books was more akin to being sliced open by a dozen invisible verbal knives.

"Vorvolk," his step-father had said, and Ivan had almost forgotten how terribly intense his gaze could be, when directed upon a person at full blast. "I distinctly recall giving you specific warning about the Vorvolks – 'This is a sensitive time, with the Regency drawing to a close and--'"

"And Vorvolk is one of those to look out for, yes, I _know_ ," Ivan said testily, although the truth of the matter was that he had forgotten, or simply failed to make the connection, what with the rash of names that his parents had been flinging at him for one reason or another. It truly didn't help that Illyan seemed to _forget_ how difficult it was for mere mortals to remember every scrap of information. He could feel the headache starting up again, full-blast.

"And you still ignore all my warnings and go gallivanting off with her into an unsecured area? What the hell were you thinking?"

A younger Ivan might have flinched. This Ivan, emboldened by the pounding hammers in his skull – imminent death didn't seem quite so terrifying when half of him sincerely wished that he was dead – merely quipped back: "But nothing came of it, right? I had a great night, she had a great night, it's all _fine_."

His step-father narrowed his eyes, and the temperature in the room felt like it dropped several degrees. "And if something had come of it, as you put it, what then?"

"What then, what if, whatever," Ivan scowled, wanting very much to end this conversation. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? It's over now, can we please stop with the damn paranoia?"

For a moment, he thought his step-father was going to shoot him. With the nerve disruptor, not the stunner. There was no outward sign of it, but Ivan could have sworn that he could see cracks in that legendary self-control. "You might be happy to gamble with your own life, Ivan," his step-father bit out, "But kindly bear in mind that your actions have ramifications. Your mother was out of her mind with worry--"

The mention of his mother seemed to make something snap within him. He was on his feet before he knew it, the chair clattering to the ground. He was almost surprised that his vision wasn't tinged with red, what with the sudden surge of fury that was sweeping through him – years of nightmares, years of watching his mother's face grow ever more lined with each new security threat, each new assassination attempt. Years of rumours, of listening to the whispers from his mother's Vor friends, the conservatives that she was forced to put up with, all in order to keep up connections, and in turn to keep votes in line for the Imperium. Years of impotent frustration, years of trying to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear, all rising up in a choke-hold.

"You dare," he hissed, barely aware that he had brought his palms slamming down on the desk. "You dare to sit there and tell me that _I'm_ the one who makes her worry?"

"Ivan—" his step-father said, a warning note in his voice.

"No, you don't _Ivan_ me, _Illyan_ ," Ivan snapped, feeling the anger starting to gain momentum, sweeping downhill. "Did you think about how _worried_ she would be, when you married her before the ashes of the Komarr Revolution had cooled? Have you seen the way she stays up all night waiting for news of you when you go on one of those _operations_ , or when we hear about another assassination attempt, always secondhand because you damn ImpSec types are too tight-lipped to say anything? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the reason why she's _worried_ is because people target her and her family because she's married to the Chief of ImpSec?"

 _Unfair comment,_ a part of his brain was trying to tell him, but he ignored it. His step-father-- _Simon's_ face had gone blank again, betraying no feeling whatsoever, and the sight of it only infuriated him even more. If only there had been _some_ kind of emotion. Guilt, maybe. Regret. Or even anger – anything would have been better than that... _nothing_. The blandness only made him want to hammer even harder, just to see it crack, shatter.

"Are you quite done?" Simon said, very mildly.

He had been prepared to wind it down. That comment only added fuel to the flames. "Shall I go on?" he ground out, between clenched teeth. "What about something else – what about how her so-called friends whisper behind her back that she isn't true Vor any longer, because she married a prole? She lives and breathes amongst those vultures because she doesn't have any other choice, because you need her and Uncle Aral needs her, and everything is about _your_ needs. And mother will do her _duty_ , because mother is... is _Vor_. But have you ever wondered – did you even stop to consider – that maybe her life would have been a lot less _worrisome_ if you hadn't barged into it?"

The last sentence just rolled out before he could stop it, the avalanche crashing down around his ears. In the sudden silence he felt sick to the gut, and not from the hangover. Part of him wanted to swallow those words back, unspeak them and never let them see the light of day ever again. Part of him wanted the earth to swallow him up, take him away from this room and away from Simon's gaze. Part of him was … strangely relieved, at having finally said it, like a dam that had burst and allowed all the pent up frustration and upset to rush out.

But like that burst dam he was rapidly emptying out. Even the rage that had fueled him so far was staring to fade away, leaving him suddenly defenceless and bereft, realising that he had crossed too many lines but lacking the momentum to get out of it.

And still Simon gave him that expressionless gaze, constantly assessing, constantly calculating, never giving anything away.

"I wish you'd never married mother," Ivan said, a last ditch attempt to lash out, because without his anger he would sink. And then, without waiting for a response, he turned and ran out of the room.

Simon didn't call him back. He nearly slammed into Aral in the corridor, and his younger brother gave him a look that told him he'd heard every word, every accusation. Aral stood aside and said nothing, but his gaze followed Ivan down the corridor.

That was the day that something broke in their household. No one ever mentioned the incident again, but Ivan could see the fractures in the awkward silences, in the increasing absences of his step-father, and in the sudden coolness that had settled into Aral's eyes whenever their gazes met. And he wondered whether they would ever be whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not the end!


	3. Chapter 3

Ivan was 17 when he decided to join the Academy.

It was, he thought, a decision that the family would approve of. It was also straightforward, simple - not quite the path of least resistance, but the least _complicated_. Uncomplicated was good. Ivan liked uncomplicated.

He had toyed briefly with the idea of college on Beta Colony, but then an acquaintance had said, in a dismissive sort of way, that only _proles_ went there, and that had put an end to that idea quite quickly. It wasn't that Ivan didn't want to be labelled a prole so much as he didn't want to be labelled, full stop, and he was rather violently allergic to the whole Vor/prole divide by now.

"What Vor/prole divide," Miles had said, but Miles had this tendency - inherited from his mother, most likely - of being able to sail through this manner of nonsense without having any of it stick to him.

Or maybe Ivan had picked up more of his mother's sensitivity to the deadly minefield that was the Vor social scene than he cared to admit.

Either way, being labelled a prole was akin to having "shoot me now" tattooed across his forehead in any high Vor gathering, and if there was anything that he was more allergic to than being labelled, it was being a _target_.

So he had chosen a path of comparatively less resistance, joking to Miles that it was a lot easier to crawl through the mud of an obstacle course with disruptor shots flying overhead than it was to face all those conservative Vor types and try to explain to them that Beta Colony was not synonymous with the Orb of Earthly - or was it Unearthly - Delights, really.

Mother approved. Simon approved - and while his step-father's approval wasn't Ivan's first priority, it was certainly easier than having to deal with his disapproval, which always led to mother's disapproval - really, whose side was she on, anyway?

He had thought that had covered all bases, so getting ambushed by his little brother was like getting ambushed by the Cetagandans through the wormhole into Barrayar's backyard that no one had ever known about, and just about as pleasant.

"You're joining the Academy?" Aral said, somehow contriving to make it sound like Beta Colony had banned sex, or Gregor had spontaneously turned into a quaddie. Ivan took a moment to imagine Gregor as a quaddie, and grimaced at the subsequent mental image. That must have confused Aral terribly, because he repeated the question, only with more emphasis on the ‘you' and the ‘Academy', and with an even more unhealthy dose of cynicism.

"Why yes, I do believe I am," Ivan said, avoiding the question quite deliberately, because avoiding questions was what he excelled at, while explaining his motivations most certainly wasn't. Especially when he wasn't completely sure what those motivations actually were.

Aral scoffed at him. Right in his face, the brat. "You do realise that this is going to end your little streak of sitting around doing absolutely nothing worthwhile with your life."

Oh, so that was what it was about. Aral was a brat, but he was also a precocious brat, one who seemed determined to try and best him in every possible field, real or imagined. While Ivan was very much about enjoying the finer things in life, like good wine and good food and getting Delia Koudelka to agree to allowing him to escort her to the Winterfair Ball, Aral had his nose stuck in his books and studies, and when he could stand the excitement, trying to beat Miles at whatever latest strategy game was making the rounds. And while Ivan could talk to his sister - who didn't judge him every step of the way - he rather feared that correcting Aral's impression that he was the most useless lout in Vorbarr Sultana would probably make the poor boy's world implode. Messily.

So he flashed him a charming grin instead. "Well. I would look dashing in a uniform, don't you think?"

Aral spluttered. Ivan was fairly convinced that no one could splutter better than his half brother. "I--" Aral said, shaking his head, "You must be the only one who can do all the right things for all the wrong reasons!"

Ivan switched his grin up a few notches from ‘charming' to ‘brilliant', suppressing the momentary pang that he felt at the disgust in his brother's voice. And decided that there was nothing to be gained by continuing this conversation. He contemplated a few possible exit strategies with the kind of tactical genius that would have done Admiral Count Vorkosigan proud, before settling on consulting his chrono in a hurried sort of way, and raising his eyebrows. "Oh, just look at the time. I'm afraid I have to run. I promised Charmaine Vorrissis that I would help her with … what was it … ah yes, her _fold-space_ homework."

He hadn't in fact made any such promise, but it was fun to see his brother turn purple. And if his brother choose to read lewd implications into a perfectly innocent comment, well, that was entirely up to him. "So, yes. Good talk, gotta run." He gave Aral a cheery wave, turning on a heel before his brother could muster a suitable retort.

 

Getting ambushed by Alessa was not an ambush, unless an ambush involved his going to actively seek out his ambushor. If his relationship with Aral had soured, at least Alessa still adored him, and the feeling was very much mutual.

"Will you come back to visit?" she asked and he smiled and nodded and told her that of course he would. She nodded at him, wisps of dark hair like her mother's trailing across her face, all intent and serious like her father.

"I'll be back before you know it," he told her.

"But where are you going?" she asked.

"The Academy," he said. "I'm going to be a soldier."

Her eyes widened, and he wondered for a brief moment whether she was going to disapprove as well, then she beamed. "A soldier? That's perfect."

"You think so?" he asked, secretly delighted.

"Of course!" she chirped. "You've always been the one who protects other people. You will go out there and protect everyone, won't you?"

The sincerity in her voice cut straight to his heart in a way that all of Aral's questioning and disdain failed to do. For the first time since he had submitted the application papers, he found himself pausing, seriously, to consider just what he was doing. Alessa waited on his response, and her gaze never wavered.

On impulse, Ivan took her hands in his. "I will," he said, and in that moment he meant it with all his heart.

 

Getting ambushed by his step-father was as unexpected as getting ambushed by his brother, and a whole lot more difficult to escape from. For starters, Simon stepped into his room and closed the door. And leaned against it. Ivan had to suppress the momentary urge to flee, feeling like some poor fool dragged in for a traffic violation and finding himself the subject of an interrogation by the might of ImpSec.

"Be careful at the Academy," Simon said, once the usual round of "How are you doing", "Oh fine" was over. Given that the Chief of ImpSec was known to be dire and paranoid and fond of raining on parades, Ivan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that and tell him to stop parroting the same, old tired lines. And since the Chief of ImpSec could also read minds, the corner of his mouth quirked, and Ivan braced himself for a reaming.

But Simon wasn't here to pick a fight, it seemed. They stared at each other for what felt like a minor eternity, until Ivan felt compelled to squirm and divulge everything he had ever done wrong in his life, like stealing cookies from the cookie jar. "Uh... right," he said instead, for the want of anything better to say. It wasn't his best comeback ever, but he hadn't spoken to his step-father properly in years. Rusty was a mild way of putting it.

Simon seemed to take that as the go-ahead to continue with whatever he had come here to say. "There are those who would tout the Academy as the great equaliser, where Vor and non-Vor compete on equal grounds," he said, his tone serious. "But the fact of the matter is that no one ever really forgets who is Vor and who isn't. And in fact, the Academy may be the one place where being Vor would place a person at a distinct disadvantage."

Great. He could almost feel the burn from imaginary glares right now, in that spot between his shoulder blades. "I don't intend to make myself a target."

Simon paused, thoughtful, and Ivan used that moment to sort through the mishmash of feelings that were starting to pound on mental doors. Half of him was annoyed - a gut-reaction that stemmed from the part of him that hated being lectured, and hated being told what to do and what not to do. The other half - once it had stopped reeling in shock - didn't know what to do with so much paternal concern. He could feel something like a knot of emotion in throat, the desperation of a seven year old who wanted nothing more than to have a Da. But rising up like a tide against that was ten years of defense mechanisms, ten years of saying that he didn't need a Da, didn't _want_ a Da. The mess met in the center, a craze of emotion that threatened to sweep him off his feet.

Too many issues. Too many words said. Too many left unsaid.

 _Breathe_ , he thought, _Breathe, talk, act normal_.

 _No,_ said the other side of him, the side that had surfaced like an unexpected and unwelcomed guest. _You have to sort this out--_

Simon's eyes narrowed, and Ivan knew that some of his internal struggle must have been reflected on his face. He forced himself to swallow, shying away from the sudden barrage of unanswered questions, the sudden doubt that he hadn't felt in years. The knot of emotion dissolved, taking the knife edge of desperation with it, leaving him feeling a little numb. Hollowed out.

"I … trust that you won't." Simon seemed to be searching for words, and for once, it didn't seem to be because he was consulting memories on his chip. "I can only hope that trouble will not come looking for you."

 _Because it'll make your job more difficult?_ were the words that came to mind, but Ivan bit them back. "This isn't a warning about a specific someone or some people, is it? Is there something I should know?"

Simon shook his head. "A … gut feeling only," he admitted, sounding a little reluctant. Not surprising, considering his step-father's general distrust of intuition and preference for cold, hard facts.

"Well," Ivan said, because he didn't know what else he could say, in the circumstances. God, he wanted this conversation to be over right now. The awkwardness was starting to making his palms itch.

Simon nodded. "Watch your back. And if you see anything suspicious, let me know."

Now _that_ was out of the blue. Although Ivan couldn't help but wonder if it was an offer of help, or whether it was just Simon's obsessive compulsive need for more information. It didn't matter, though, because since that directive had come from his step-father, Ivan had absolutely no intention of sticking to it. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, acknowledgment only, neither promise nor refusal.

 

Getting ambushed by his mother was very much expected, even though he had been trying his best to avoid it.

"Ivan," she said, coming up behind him while he was packing, and he nearly jumped sky high.

"I'll be careful, I promise," he said hurriedly, to avoid the imminent lecture.

His mother gave him a doubtful look, and Ivan stuffed his hands into his pockets to stop himself from fidgetting. "I will," he said, because his mother didn't fill the silence. "Anyway, lots of people go to the Academy. Miles is trying out for the entrance exams too, did you hear? He got special dispensation..."

Distracting people by talking like a high speed train was usually a good strategy, but his mother was no ordinary person. ‘Tenacity like a tractor beam', was just one of the ways he had heard people describe it. He felt his stream of words wind down, dying even as he sought to revitalise them. Treacherous brain, failing him just when he needed it most.

"And besides..." he said, then realised he didn't know what he'd been intending to say next. If he'd been intending to say anything. He winced internally as his distraction technique died an untimely and inglorious death, and he mentally prepared himself to be talked at for the next hour or so, about safety and proper conduct and What Was Becoming of a Vorpatril.

And then, because it seemed to be a day for surprises, his mother shook her head and _didn't_ launch into the Take Care of Yourself lecture. "I know," she said instead, "Simon told me he's spoken to you about it." She didn't say _your father_ \- she was well aware of the undercurrents there.

"Oh," Ivan said, because it seemed to be a day for his usual eloquence to fail him too.

"The house will be quiet without you," his mother said, looking around his room as though seeing it for the first time. "It'll be the first time you've been away for so long."

"I... Aral and Alessa will still be around. Aral can more than make up for the lack of noise," he said, joking lamely. It seemed to be a default reaction to potentially charged situations.

His mother didn't rise to the bait. She seemed to be thinking through something. Ivan fidgetted.

Finally, when she spoke, it was as calm and deliberate as she always was, but Ivan thought he could detect a note of uncertainty in her voice. "I know," she said, looking out of the window instead of at him, "that you don't always approve of my decision to marry Simon."

When she put it like that, all he wanted to do was furiously deny that allegation. "No it's not like that--"

"Ivan," his mother said, and he shut his mouth so quickly that he felt like the snap must have been audible. His mother sighed, and glanced over. "It hasn't been easy for you, these past few years."

He wanted to deny that too, but it didn't seem like a good time to speak. He made a neutral sound of acknowledgment instead. His mother was studying his expression, and for a moment he was struck by how very similar her scrutiny was to Simon's. And it _also_ made his palms itch. "It's not so bad," he said, wanting to say something, anything, to dispel the awkwardness that was choking the air.

His mother shook her head, and Ivan wished briefly that he had tried a bit harder at this whole family thing, if only for his mother's sake. But it was a very brief wish, one that died almost as fast as it occurred. He sighed softly. "Well, okay. It is pretty bad. But I can try to work things out -- well, I could try to work things out if I wasn't leaving tomorrow - or rather, maybe working things out will have to wait until I get back and--" he huffed, thinking about how annoying the lack of time was. "--well, I'll sort things out with him when I'm back for the break. It'll be alright. Promise. My word as Vorpatril." There. He was quite sure that would do the trick.

But his mother looked sadder than ever in the moment, and Ivan wondered just what he had said wrong. He had been so sure that that was the right thing to say. "I can't force you to love him," his mother said, "Nor do I wish to. I just wish... I had spoken to both of you earlier..."

Her voice trailed off, and Ivan winced as a thought struck him for the first time. His mother was the mediator between so many different people, the one who stood between, the one who smoothed relationships and soothed ruffled feathers. And yet to be unable to do the same in her own family... "Mother..."

His mother touched his cheek, briefly. "Just know that he loves you very much, Ivan. As do I. And we will always be here for you if you need us."

He hardly knew how to respond to that. _Love_ was one of those things that he tried not to think too hard about - not in the context of finding a nice Vor girl to settle down with, as his mother kept quietly nudging him to do, and certainly not in the context of family. Family was … complicated. Complication was best avoided entirely. Suddenly, he was very glad that he was leaving this entire situation behind for a good, long time.

"I love you too, mother," he said.

*

Ivan was still seventeen when he was hauled out of bed in the middle of the night and sent charging across half the galaxy to look for Miles. The Academy, despite Simon's dire predictions had been working out just fine. The only people trying to kill him were the instructors, and the most interesting thing that had happened to date was Miles' flunking out. Ivan was almost bored enough to miss his obnoxious and hyperactive cousin until he was gone. _Almost_.

So when the orders came from Admiral Hessman to join Captain Dimir right _now_ on the next ship out, he didn't think twice. He also didn't think to stop to tell anyone.

It was only after he met up with Miles, without Captain Dimir, that he began to have the niggling suspicion that something was very wrong. And it was only after Miles let his paranoid imagination run a few circles around them that Ivan began to realise just how wrong they were.

 _Be careful_ , Simon had warned him, and damn if he hadn't been right. But what good was a warning when it didn't carry specifics? Ivan could have done with a large bottle of wine - heck, several large bottles of wine ... or better still, something stronger than wine, but a mercenary fleet that had been stuck behind a blockade for weeks didn't seem to be the best place to get some.

So instead of drinking, he paced the tiny cabin and tried to override the sinking feeling of doom by sheer dint of mindless activity.

"Can't be true," he muttered, six steps for the length of the cabin, five if he stretched his stride. "The courier was in full Imperial household livery - Hessman wouldn't have _dared_ to counterfeit that..."

The echoes bounced off the walls - one thing they didn't mention about glorious ship duty was just how _small_ these damned ships got, after you had been stuck on them for a while. Especially when you were waiting for imminent death by enemy blockade, or not so imminent death, by way of … whatever it was that awaited them when they got back to Barrayar.

Another six steps back. No wonder Miles had gotten ulcers. All this stress without a good bottle of wine to take the edge off wasn't--

\--he slapped his palm into the wall and forced himself to take a deep breath. "Can't be," he told himself firmly. "It's all been a huge misunderstanding. We'll get home and everything will be _fine_."

Echo, echo. It almost sounded more convincing, that way. But his instincts, the ones that he had learnt to ignore over the years, continued to clamour at him.

*

They were home, and against all odds, everything was fine - but only because Miles was too damn good at talking. Ivan watched with a growing sense of incredulity as Hessman shot himself in the foot, and the entire house of cards came tumbling down. And then he watched as Vordrozda pulled a needler on Gregor, and then he wasn't just watching any more, he was _moving_ , and a voice in the back of his head was still yelling at him for being a damned fool when his hit took Vordrozda in the knees and sent them both to the floor.

 

They were home, and everything was fine, and Miles was all but acquitted, and Ivan was a hero of sorts, and the hardest part of the entire fiasco was still ahead of him.

His mother was waiting for him outside Vorhartung Castle, her face drawn with worry. When had she gotten those lines on her face, Ivan wondered. Surely it couldn't have been because of his little adventure... "Mother," Ivan said, and was rather surprised when his voice didn't crack.

A tiny smile broke through the weariness on his mother's face, like the sun through the clouds, and Ivan felt himself let go of a breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "It's alright," he said. "I'm home now. Miles is going to be acquitted, and he's actually going to be allowed into the Academy, the lucky bas-- _boy_ , and you should wait until you hear what he's managed to get himself into this ti--"

He didn't manage to complete his sentence, because he found himself being pulled into an embrace, his face practically smothered against the fabric of his mother's gown (and, a cynical corner of his mind noted, given that it was a very _Vorish_ gown, there was plenty of fabric for said smothering). His _mother_. Who lived and breathed decorum and protocol and was the very anti-thesis of unseemly public displays of emotion or affection …

"Mother," he said, somewhat muffled. "It's ok. It's really ok. I'm so sorry..."

What was worse, he wondered, standing on the lawn watching a uterine replicator being shot to pieces before your eyes and being unable to stop it, or waiting against hope, day after day, for news of your missing son? He couldn't decide. Didn't want to think about it at all.

"I know," his mother said, and released him at last, holding him at arm's length. "You fool boys," she sighed, which made Ivan crack a tiny smile of his own.

"Father is--" he said, at the same time his mother said, "Simon is--" They paused, each thrown off for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Ivan said. He felt like he was saying that a lot, lately.

His mother seemed to shake off the rawness of the emotion that had engulfed her earlier, becoming once again the unflappable Vor lady. "If anything, it's Miles' fault," she said tartly. "But his father is on his way to ImpSec right now to pick up Simon."

"Should we join him at ImpSec?" Ivan asked, feeling a little like he was treading on eggshells. He was, if anything, _more_ nervous than he'd been before he stepped into Vorhartung Castle. Even if everything was supposedly alright.

His mother shook her head. "Aral promised that he would bring him straight home, once the doctors clear him." Ivan read annoyance in her eyes - ImpSec must have refused to allow her in. He wondered whether - no, _how many_ \- heads would roll once his step-father got back into the Chief's office.

"Then," he suggested, tentatively, feeling those eggshells shift with every syllable he uttered, "Perhaps we should head back to prepare the welcome-home party."

 

They were home - home being the terraced house that they had moved into once Aral was born. It was a little further from city center than the old flat that they had stayed in, but his step-father didn't view that as a bad thing, from a security perspective, and Ivan was starting to really appreciate the space, after Academy rooms and the cramped quarters aboard ship.

He'd barely had time to drop his duffel on his bed, when he felt the needle points of a glare being levelled at his back.

He spun. His brother was standing in the door way, and the scowl on his face spoke volumes.

"Hey," Ivan said, very carefully.

"You--" Aral crossed the distance between them in a single stride, grabbed his collar, and _twisted_. Ivan felt himself get yanked down - the difference in their heights wasn't so obvious now, he thought distantly: Aral seemed to have started on his growth spurt.

"If you're referring to--" Ivan started, but Aral wasn't going to give him a chance to finish.

"You. Damn. _Moron!_ " Aral snarled, and Ivan observed that his brother seemed to have mastered his father's way of yelling without ever raising his voice. The similarities made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

"Look, I--" Ivan said.

"Do you know how _worried_ Mother's been?" Aral cut him off. Definitely his mother's skill of talking right over everyone else. "And Lessa? Do you know what it's like, to have ImpSec men beat your door down in the middle of the night and drag your father out?"

 _It's not my fault,_ Ivan wanted to say, but Aral didn't seem to be in a listening mood.

"And then you _drop off the map_ without even telling your CO at the Academy where you're going, just up and run in the middle of the night and _do you have any idea_ what you've put mother through, how she hasn't been able to _sleep_ since we first found out that you were missing, how she's been working tirelessly to try and find out where you were, hoping against hope that you weren't dead in some ditch somewhere, and all the while trying to help Uncle Aral clear father of the treason charges..."

"I nearly was," Ivan muttered. "Dead, I mean. Not in a ditch - more likely in a wormhole, or somewhere in neverwhere, but dead is dead, I guess."

Aral gave him a look that morphed from incredulous to pure rage, and then shook him, hard. Ivan felt his teeth rattle. "You bleeding _idiot_! Can't you do anything right? For once in your life? Do you _have_ to go around being an absolute failure everywhere you go?"

 _Unfair,_ Ivan thought. It wasn't even his fault to start with - he'd been set up, as much as any of the others - heck, he'd nearly been _assassinated_ \- and if there was anyone to blame, it should be Miles, or Hessman, or Vordrozda. And he'd stopped Vordrozda from shooting Gregor today, or Miles, or someone, anyway, and that should have counted for _something_ , right?

But-- a part of him argued-- maybe if he'd been smarter, more alert, quicker on the uptake - maybe if he'd been a bit more like _Miles_ and a bit less like _Ivan_ , he would have come up with some brilliant plan to stop Vordrozda in his tracks, get Miles acquitted, and save the day, all without leaving Barrayar, or letting his step-father get arrested, or letting mother worry.

 _Maybe,_ a rather embarrassed thought mumbled at the back of his head, _if you'd reported Hessman's orders to ImpSec, or better still, to your step-father, instead of just running off blindly..._

Hindsight. Twenty-twenty. And all of that.

"You," Aral said, and Ivan flinched at the sheer amount of disgust in his voice, "Are completely _useless_."

"Yes, well," Ivan said, feeling too tired to argue the point, "Story of my life."

Aral might have said more, but there was a sudden noise at the front door, and the sound of voices - Uncle Aral's, and …

His brother released him in an instant, and all but hurtled out of his room and across the living room. So it was that when the door opened, Aral threw himself at his father, who gave him a startled look, then folded his arms around him.

Ivan, watching from the living room, felt a twist of envy in his gut.

Time to escape, he decided. Aral's accusations had thrown him way off his game, and he wasn't up for another confrontation, not quite so soon.

But as Alessa and his mother came running out of the kitchen, Ivan found himself unable to look away, watching the happy reunion without ever being part of it. It hurt, on a level he didn't know existed, and he recalled the way Miles had looked at Uncle Aral, when he'd stepped into the assembly before Gregor, recalled Uncle Aral on his knees before Count Vorhalas, _begging_ on his son's behalf -- and there was a lump in his throat, emotion pressing down on his chest and making it hard to breathe.

 _All I ever wanted,_ Ivan thought, and felt his fingernails digging into his palms.

And then, before he could fade quietly into his room to plan his next move, his step-father looked around, and their eyes met.

The emotion that flashed across his step-father's face was that of sheer relief and -- something shining underneath it that … Ivan couldn't identify. Didn't want to identify. It made the knife in his gut twist _again_ , because it looked perilously close to the look that Uncle Aral had on his face when he laid eyes on Miles.

"Ivan," his step-father said.

"Da," Ivan said, his voice suddenly rough. Damn lumps in his throat. "...Welcome home."

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Still not finished. Sorry about the long delay!
> 
> A few quick notes - Aral is 7 years younger than Ivan, Alessa is 3 years younger than Aral.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan was twenty five when he received the offer for the posting to old Earth.

It couldn't have been better timed. His brother Aral had just graduated from the Academy, and true to form, the brat had very nearly topped the class, then proceeded to join ImpSec straight away. Ivan fingered the Ops pins on his collar and suppressed a sigh. The sibling rivalry that had raged between them for years hadn't ceased after Aral's graduation – it had cooled and become something that Ivan didn't know how to classify at all. These days, Aral looked at him like he was a stranger, his features carefully schooled into his father's best expressionless expression. Weekend dinners at home, insofar as they actually happened at all, were civil things, scrupulously polite, and devoid of any warmth whatsoever.

Leaning back, Ivan narrowed his eyes at the words scrolling across the screen of his console. An assignment to the old blue marble pretty much topped the most-desirable-posting-ever list, and when Ivan had first been told about it by his CO, the first thing out of his mouth was, "You sure it's not meant for _Miles_?"

Miles was his own special case, of course, and Ivan still couldn't believe that they had actually gone so far as to reward his cousin by _giving_ him the Dendarii after the Hegen Hub fiasco. But even Miles hadn't been to Earth. At least, not that Ivan was aware of.

There was only one catch with the posting, and it could adequately be summed up in one word: ImpSec.

Ivan looked down at the pair of silver Horus-eyes lying on his desk, staring up at him accusingly. Bad enough that he already had The Might of ImpSec living in his house – or rather, the fact that _he_ lived in The Might of ImpSec's house. Bad enough that he already had The Next Hottest Thing in ImpSec (excepting Miles, but Miles was an exception to everything) living in that house. Now they wanted _him_ in ImpSec too.

"What's the catch?" Ivan had demanded of his step-father. "Don't you have enough junior ImpSec officers who would jump at this opportunity – don't you already have one who just received his Horus eyes last month, in fact?"

"I am given to understand that the ambassador put through a request for a Vor lord of some rank," Simon had replied calmly. "The other half of the portfolio, you'll note, includes a certain amount of entertaining. There are a number of candidates – however, none of them are in ImpSec. And of those outside ImpSec, your Security clearances are the highest."

"You could send Miles," Ivan had said.

His step-father had only given him a level look. "If you're not willing to accept this assignment--"

"No, no," Ivan had cut in quickly. "I mean. I'm just... surprised. Was this your idea?" Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to keep a faint accusatory note out of his voice. Conspiracy theories of Simon and Aral scheming together to set him up for some spectacular fall had been running through his head for hours.

"No," Simon had said. "I only approved the shortlist." And then his comm had gone off with a high priority tone, and Ivan, seeing his step-father glance at the ID and his face darken with the impending explosion, had opted to take himself somewhere safer.

Another minor crisis in ImpSec. Ivan would bet that it involved Miles somehow. And seeing how Ensign Illyan was abruptly too busy for all of them, Ivan would wager it involved his brother too.

Sighing, Ivan picked up the Horus-eyes tabs. And here he had spent most of his adult life trying to stay _out_ of the shadow of ImpSec.

 

Still, when Ivan stepped off the fast courier and into the glittering... _glitter_ of London, he realised he didn't regret his decision at all. Here, on a planet of 9 billion souls, light years removed from Barrayar, the fact that whatever reports he compiled would eventually cross the desk of the dread Simon Illyan didn't seem like such a huge thing.

He was _away_ from his family. As far away as he could possibly be, at this point. Away from his mother's pointed hints about getting married, away from Aral's polite and just as pointed sniping, away from the awkward tension with his step-father that refused to go away, away from Alessa's arguments with Mother as to why she couldn't join the Academy.

Pure, _glorious_ freedom. He fancied that it was too good to last.

Unfortunately, he was right.

 

Miles dropped on them with an entire mercenary fleet, desperately in need of pocket change to the order of eighteen million marks. Ivan spent an entire half an hour asking the universe just what cardinal sin he had committed, to have Miles not only land in his lap but also directly in his chain of command, before he realised that it could have been worse. It could have been _Aral_.

Miles, Ivan realised, wasn't too bad. Sure, he was hyperactive as all hell, but Ivan had long gotten used to that, and it was rather nice having someone of his own age around. It was even better when that someone also outranked him in Vorishness, and by extension, automatically assumed all of Ivan's duties of entertaining the senior and _old_ dignitaries. Leaving Ivan to go after the younger – and significantly prettier – ones. Miles, Ivan figured, was good to have around. The only problem with him, really, was the fact that trouble also tended to follow him around. And so far, trouble seemed to be staying out of Miles' way. Or so Ivan thought.

Unfortunately, he was wrong.

 

Ten days after Miles had dropped on their heads, Ivan found himself hauled into sticking his neck out for his cousin, to the order of helping him sneak in and out of the Embassy's security. Predictably, he found himself hauled up on the carpet of the senior ImpSec officer right after that, wondering why he always managed to get himself entangled in this sort of thing whenever Miles was involved.

"It's going in your record," Captain Galeni said, and Ivan closed his eyes briefly, feeling the silver pins on his collar practically burning a hole into his neck. He could _hope_ that such minor infractions were beneath the notice of the Chief of Imperial Security, but he didn't want to imagine what his _mother_ would have to say about it. He could feel the disapproving looks already.

Still, a black mark on his record was minor, by the standard of the things he'd gone through with Miles. Not least of which was narrowly avoiding assassination. He rather hoped that things on Earth would settle down after that little incident.

Unfortunately, he was _still_ wrong.

 

Ten days after _that_ , Captain Galeni went missing, and the entire Security portfolio of the Barrayaran Embassy landed in Ivan's lap.

 _I'm not even in ImpSec,_ Ivan wanted to protest, except that he had those darn pins on his collar, and Miles was – of course – conveniently _not around_. And to make matters worse, Ivan kept hearing a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like his bratty brother's saying - _Well, then you had better make finding Captain Galeni a matter of priority, hadn't you?_

Miles came back. Galeni didn't. Ivan, chained to his desk, or rather, to _Galeni's_ desk, vowed to give the ImpSec pins back the moment he landed on Barrayar's soil. Or _fling_ them back.

And just when Ivan thought it couldn't get worse, _Miles_ disappeared. The worst part was, Ivan didn't even notice.

Oh, Ivan suspected it, when Miles' behavior changed. It wasn't anything he could really put a finger on, apart from Miles acting a little cooler towards him – towards everyone and everything, really – and finding all manner of excuses to stay away from him. But then Miles had just failed a mission, and Ivan was far too bogged down with work to really think twice about it. If Miles wanted to sulk, he could throw a pity party on his own.

Besides, the only other logical conclusion was that the Miles Vorkosigan he had returned with wasn't Miles at all, but some kind of clone. Which was just ridiculous.

 

By the time Miles himself turned up, four days later, spouting a beard and stories about Komarran terrorists and clones and – Ivan almost wasn't surprised any more - with Galeni in tow, Ivan put it down mentally as _way too easy_ , and braced himself for the worst to come.

The worst came in the middle of the night, in the form of Elena Bothari-Jesek blowing in from Tau Ceti with Commodore Destang, Sector Two Security Chief, and his entire entourage in tow. Which, Ivan noted, with a kind of numb horror, included one Ensign Aral Illyan. Who, apparently, had been assigned to the Case of the Missing Dendarii.

 _Great,_ Ivan thought, _Just wait until Simon turns up. With Mother._

While Commodore Destang raked Galeni and Miles over hot coals, Aral leaned against the wall in an manner that was too familiar for comfort, and made notes on his handheld note taker. Ivan made the mistake of meeting his brother's gaze, halfway through the grilling session, and saw only cool disgust in grey eyes. _Ouch._

*

Miles, with his typical, impossible luck, survived the hot coals session with relatively little damage, and Destang sent him packing along with the Dendarii. Which left Ivan stuck on Earth to face his brother and the wrath of Destang, all alone. Ivan trailed after Miles as he headed back to his room to change into his Dendarii uniform, and somehow found himself in unauthorised possession of half of a commlink pair that should have been turned in. As Miles walked out of the Embassy compound, carrying the other half of that commlink pair, Ivan wondered how he always managed to end up doing this. The worst part was, he'd actually had a chance to say no this time.

He glanced across the corridor and caught sight of Aral walking past, trailing Destang, and wondered whether this was all some attempt on his part to prove something to his little brother – _if he was a little bit more like Miles, and a little bit less like Ivan..._ But getting involved in Miles' various schemes was just like being part of the ice trail speeding behind a comet, pretty but insignificant, and more likely to get burnt up than the comet itself if and when they passed too close to the sun.

Aral turned from Destang to issue orders to a group of noncoms, and Ivan suppressed a twinge of … something. Aral was just an Ensign, and the big shots at ImpSec were already eying his progress with interest. While his brother shuffled data and compiled mind numbingly boring reports, danced with girls at social occasions, and assisted his cousin in breaking all the rules in the book.

Ivan jammed his fingers into his pockets. He stubbed one of them on the commlink, and sighed.

 

Just a day later, Ivan found that he had been wrong – yet again – about the worst being over.

The World Botanical Exhibition and Ornamental Flower Show. It was a yearly event – and Ivan had forgotten entirely about it in the excitement. But Miles was gone, and life went on, and, to Ivan's horror, he found that Aral had been assigned to run Security for him – just him, not the ambassador's wife - during his attendance at the show.

"No. What. Really?" Ivan said – intelligently – to Destang, when the news broke over his head like a tidal wave of freezing water.

"Ensign Illyan's team picked up some unusual movements around the venue within the last twenty-four hours," Destang said dryly. He sounded like a microcosm of Simon Illyan himself. What was it with these senior ImpSec types? "He has his orders. Don't get in his way."

"Right," Ivan said glumly. Really, that was his life – getting upstaged by Miles on a regular basis was something that he was used to, but now even Aral had started in on it too.

"So," Aral said, once they stepped out of Destang's office. "How has the posting to Earth been? Met many pretty ladies?" His tone was light, and so neutral as to be mocking.

"Plenty," Ivan said, in a smile that narrowly escaped being a bearing of his teeth. Damn, just a few months in Miles' company and he was already picking up his bad habits. He moderated his tone and expression. "I still look dashing in a uniform."

"Of course you do," Aral said.

Ivan was saved from accidentally strangling his brother by the appearance of the ambassador's lady. As befitting the duties of an escort boy, Ivan bent over her hand, then offered her his arm to lead to her to the car.

The evening itself went better after that. There was wine, good conversation, and Ivan, steeped in his element, went out of his way to shine. It was a pity that being an excellent at this sort of stuff apparently wasn't the type of things that won any kind of medals or admiration from competitive younger siblings.

Or _parents_ , for that matter. It seemed that the only thing Mother wanted from him was to find a Vor girl of suitable standing and _settle down_. He wasn't entirely opposed to the idea, as long as it stayed an indeterminate but suitable number of years away in the future, and Mother seemed to view that as repeated failure. And Simon – didn't seem to expect anything out of him at all, which Ivan had a sinking feeling had something to do with his step-father having given up entirely on him. It was impossible to disappoint someone who had no expectations, but it was also impossible to fulfil non-expectations. Or exceed them. It was as good as not having a father at all. And besides, as Ivan had told himself so many times, he really didn't care about Simon Illyan's approval.

With an effort, he shook off the melancholic thoughts, wondering whether melancholy was contagious, and whether he'd caught it from Miles. He was usually better at staying away from depressing topics, preferring to live in the moment. Like this moment, which was probably going to be his last chance to enjoy himself for a while, before Destang drowned him in some data collating exercise, while his _younger brother_ ran around in the field and collected that data and the accoulades.

He sighed, and decided that he really needed more alcohol. Galeni wasn't in charge of this reception, which meant that Ivan could actually get some of that beautiful straw-coloured reisling instead of the Galeni-special-apple-juice, free flow for all on-duty ImpSec officers. A few glasses of wine were guaranteed to drive these uncharacteristic thoughts out of his head. But first things first – he needed to take a leak.

Aral caught up with him just outside the bathroom, touching his elbow. "Sir," his brother said, his tone only _faintly_ tinged with irony. "Allow me."

"For crying out loud," Ivan muttered. "It's only the damn bathroom."

"Can never be too careful, sir," Aral said, darkly cheerful, and stepped in ahead of him.

Ivan scowled, leaned against the wall, and let Aral satisfy his damn ImpSec paranoia, and more importantly, satisfy himself that he was doing a much more important job than his useless elder brother, even if it was running Security on a damn bathroom--

Movement happened. Ivan ducked immediately, his survival instincts spurring him into action before his conscious mind even registered the two figures at the end of the corridor aiming stunners at him. Ducked and dodged behind a potted plant, reaching for the stunner that he wasn't carrying, damn Earth regulations.

"Ivan!" Aral came charging out of the bathroom even as Ivan yelled at him to _get down you idiot!_ Stunner bolts hit the walls around them. Ivan leapt for Aral _\-- oh God, plasma arc fire on a lawn--_ colliding heavily with him and letting his momentum carry them around the corner. Aral shoved him behind him, eyes wide.

"Run!" Ivan yelled.

"It's a dead end, you idiot," Aral hissed, and Ivan cursed his damnable luck.

"Got an extra stunner?" he asked.

Aral shook his head. He'd already drawn his own, from a concealed holster. There was thump of footsteps as their assailants came charging down the corridor. They had maybe a second before--

\--Aral grabbed one of the potted plants, and flung it against the large floor-to-ceiling window that formed one wall of the corridor. Crash of glass. An alarm going up, even as stunner fire blasted down the corridor. Ivan reached for Aral, and Aral shoved him right through the window, sending him crashing down two storeys. One of the stunner bolts clipped him as he fell, and the world dissolved into darkness.

 

And back again, with a wash of nausea, typical of a post-stun hangover.

White. It was white everywhere. And it stank of ethanol. The disinfectant kind, not the kind that Ivan preferred. Medbay.

"Ivan," a voice said, from somewhere off to the side of his bed. Galeni.

"Sir!" he shot upright, wincing as a multitude of bruises made themselves known. But there was no sharp flash of pain that signified a broken bone, or a few. "Aral, where is he?"

"They have him," Galeni said, grimly. "Destang has sent out search teams. I can't believe..." he looked incredibly frustrated for a moment, "That they managed to make off with one of our men in the middle of a high profile event... they must have set this up in advance."

"Ser Galen," Ivan said. "Has to be. But... why?" Had him. Which meant that he was still alive. Which meant that there was still hope. "Why go after a junior officer, someone not even on the guest list--" He paused, his eyes widened.

Galeni voiced the very thought that had been running through Ivan's mind. "They weren't after him."

"They were after _me,_ " Ivan said, feeling something boiling up through him, even through the post-stun haze. After him. Him. The target. Except that someone else had gotten hit. His _brother_ had gotten hit.

"They must have required a hostage," Galeni was saying, "Which means that ... Galen ..." he pronounced it like it left a foul taste in his mouth, "Must want to negotiate. But we haven't received any calls. And what does he think he can bargain with? The ambassador's lady would have been a better bargaining chip, if he was looking for clemency from Barrayar..."

"Maybe he isn't looking for that?" Ivan scrubbed at his eyes. "Shit, I really need some synergine."

"I'll call for some," Galeni said absently. "Although wouldn't you rather just sleep off the hangover?"

Ivan glanced up him. _Glared_ up at him. "My _brother_ is missing," he snarled. "And the might of ImpSec apparently can't even track one of their own. And you want me to sit here and _sleep off the hangover?_ "

Part of him couldn't believe that he was talking to his commanding officer in this manner. _Definitely_ Miles' influence.

 _Or maybe it's all you,_ a little voice said in him, _The part of you that's been hiding all these years..._

Whatever. "Synergine," Ivan snapped.

Galeni gave him a long look, then hit the wall comm to call for a hypospray. "I was under the impression that you weren't on the best of terms with your half-brother," he said, after thumbing the comm off.

"He's my brother," Ivan said. "He may be a brat, but he's still my brother." He gritted his teeth. "And I vowed I'd never let any harm come to him." _Fire on the lawn--_ he shoved the nightmare images out of his mind. "How long have I been out?"

Galeni checked his wrist chrono. "They brought you in just fifteen minutes ago. You've probably been out for less than forty five minutes. You do realise--" He stopped as the door slid open to admit a medic, then amended whatever he was about to say, "--What can you remember of the attack, Lieutenant?"

Ivan spoke, conjuring up memories that were a little fuzzy thanks to the effects of the stun, as the medic applied the hypospray. "--I don't recall what they looked like." He waved a hand vaguely in a circle, then clamped his hand shut as he realised that it was a gesture copied from his step-father. "--They might have had masks on... yeah, they probably did... damn, I can't..." He shook his head. "Nothing. It's gone. I just remember blurs of movement, then Aral shoving me out of the window... it's a miracle I didn't break everything on the way down."

"You landed on a display of Australiasia flora," Galeni said, and his dry tone was laced with the slightest hint of amusement. "It broke your fall."

Ivan squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh God. It probably broke my reputation as well."

"It was... eye-catching," Galeni said. "Or so I understand."

"Done, sir," the medic said, giving Galeni a nod, then retreated at a wave from the Captain.

The synergine burned through his system like a bolt of pure terror. He could _feel_ his senses sharpening painfully, his muscles starting to twitch with the need to _go go go_. His thoughts jumped from sluggish straight to racing, and for a moment he had to jam the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop his suddenly overactive imagination from skipping between the various and no doubt _nasty_ possibilities regarding the kidnapping of his brother.

"We need to find him," Ivan said. Urgently.

"Destang's men are already on it. There's not much else we can do but wait. Even if we weren't ordered to remain at the Embassy, there isn't much that the two of us can do, on our own."

"There has to be something," Ivan said, trying to breathe around the need to do something. _Anything_. Damn, was this how Miles felt _all the time_?

Miles. _Miles_.

"Miles," Ivan said, shooting upright. "If there's anyone who can find him... hell, he has an entire fleet sitting up in orbit doing nothing..."

"Destang's ordered him to sit tight too. He doesn't want him involved," Galeni pointed out. "And all the commconsoles are tapped. There's no way that you could possibly contact him. Unless," and Galeni's tone was oh so mild at this point, "You happen to have the other half of a set of secure comm units that Miles conveniently forgot to return when he left..."

Ivan _stared_ at Galeni for a long moment. "You _weasel_ ," he managed.

Galeni sketched him an ironic nod. "I am an ImpSec officer, after all."

And Ivan wasn't. Wasn't trained for it. Hadn't been in the field since he'd graduated from the Academy, at least, not a field that had live rounds going over his head and people out to kill him.

For a moment, the old instincts surged up, asking him just why he was sticking his neck out and not letting the experts handle it, as experts were supposed to do. Why the heck he was charging off to play hero, like a knight in those old fairytales...

For a moment, he doubted.

But then, deeper than all of that was another part of him, the part that said it was _family_ , and he – he would stand between a plasma arc and any one of them. He had been willing to do it, once.

 _You do realise,_ Aral's voice said, as though spoken into his ear, _that this is going to end your little streak of sitting around doing absolutely nothing worthwhile with your life_.

He had a point. His little brother was a brat, but he _had a point_. Ivan had been content to keep his head down and out of trouble, and let Miles more than make up for his share of doing the outrageous. Part of it – a large part – was fear. Fear of standing out. Fear of being a target. Fear of _losing_ , because he'd recognised a long time ago that there was just no going up against Miles.

But there was also another reason, he realised. And that was because he simply didn't see the _point_ of trying so hard.

One of his earliest memories of Miles had been watching Miles fall off Grand-Uncle Piotr's stallion trying to gallop him bareback, had seen him curled up in pain, had thought to himself – why. Why would Miles do such a stupid thing. And that memory segued into the recollection of Miles jumping that damn wall at the Academy entrance exam physicals – jumping it instead of climbing down it slowly, like he should have. Remembered the way Miles had collapsed after that, face white with pain, chances all blown, and Ivan had wondered how his cousin, who could be so brilliant at times, could also be so dense at others.

Miles. He'd watched him over the years, had seen him manic and depressive, but he had never seen him without that fire that burned behind his eyes, that whisper of something greater that chased his footsteps everywhere he went. That _drive_. It set Miles apart from everyone else, including his clone, and _damned_ if Ivan wasn't still kicking himself for missing that.

Apart from everyone else except Aral, maybe. Aral, who was quieter, who didn't leave such a trail blazing... well, _trail_ of destruction in his path, but who chased perfection with a burning obsession that Ivan had never been able to understand. Aral, who quietly worshipped the ground that Miles walked on.

 _Damn,_ he thought, realisation after realisation clicking into place. No wonder Aral was disappointed in his older brother.

And before today, before some assholes who had been trying to take a potshot at him had gotten his brother instead, Ivan would never have understood why Miles would defy order after order to get into scrapes that he barely got out of alive. Would never have understood why Aral would just about kill himself to top his Academy class, when, five years down the road, Academy scores wouldn't matter at all, one way or another.

Everyone, Ivan was starting to see, had their motivators, the thing that would make them throw away all self-preservation and common sense and fling themselves without reservation into the breach. And once you went down that slippery slope, it seemed that you just _couldn't stop_.

Forward momentum, Miles called it.

"We're going after him," Ivan said, and Galeni, who might have seen something of his internal struggle, only narrowed his eyes and nodded.

 _Sleep off the hangover – damnit, you Komarran bastard. That was a test, wasn't it?_ Ivan thought. And how could he blame the man, when Ivan had gotten the skill of scraping through life with minimum effort for an acceptable amount of results down to an art? Average Ivan. Mediocre Ivan. Consistently underperforming Ivan.

Seven years into Imperial Service and still crunching data into reports in a windowless room.

He would have to do something about that. But now – right now – he was going after his brother. Destang be _damned_.

They hadn't - _thank God_ \- gotten him out of his dress uniform when they brought him into medbay. Ivan hunted in his pocket, located the commlink, and thumbed it on. _Come on, Miles. Pick up..._

The call beeped through.

"Miles!" Ivan cried out, "There's been a--"

"Ivan!" Miles said at the same time, "You won't believe--"

They paused.

"Aral was--" Ivan said, at the same time Miles said, "I got a call from--"

Ivan gave up and let Miles talk.

 

Ser Galen had Aral. Galen had Aral and Aral was going to die unless they managed to stop that madman. Ivan was beginning to understand something else about forward momentum – sometimes, you didn't stop because you simply didn't dare to.

He walked out of the Embassy with Galeni, and it was remarkably easy to do so, considering Destang's orders that both of them were supposed to stay put. Some vestige of his self-preservation gibbered in the back of his mind, pointing out that he was sticking out his neck – and it wasn't even for _Miles_ , this time. He ignored it. It was remarkably easy to do so, too.

Miles, as usual, had a Plan. Surprisingly, it was actually sensible. "Galen is only expecting Captain Galeni and me," Miles said. "He didn't count on you being involved."

Many people didn't count on him being involved. It was strange to think that that might be an asset, for once.

"We'll try to talk him out of it," Miles said, and Ivan would have bet that his mind was on his clone-brother. He felt a pang of sympathy – he just wasn't sure whether it was directed at Miles, or at the clone. "You and Quinn stay hidden – if it boils down to a game of stunner tag, which I really hope it doesn't, it's four against two."

"Or four against however many goons he brought along," Galeni muttered.

"The important thing is finding Aral," Ivan said. "We can't find that out if they're stunned, or dead."

"I know," Miles replied. "Which is why I hoping that we'll be able to talk them down."

 

Surprisingly, Miles was wrong.

Galen turned up with the clone in tow, and Ivan was too far away to hear what they were saying. He did, however, see the moment the clone pulled a nerve disruptor, and he didn't need to lip-read to tell that Galen was ordering him to shoot.

Ivan fired. Galen moved at the wrong moment, grabbing for the disruptor, and Ivan watched as the disruptor went off, saw Galen jerk horribly, saw the clone's eyes go wide in shock. Saw the clone move impossibly fast, and Ivan's own stunner bolt splashed harmlessly into the ground. The clone glanced up at his location, snapped off a disruptor round, then dropped the gun and ran for it.

The disruptor blast smashed into the wall. Ivan, abandoning the last ounce of rational thought and self-preservation, took off in hot pursuit.

He caught up with the clone in one of the corridors. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he had left Miles behind at some point, and he was somewhat glad for it, because that meant that Miles wasn't around when he snapped off a stunner round at the clone's legs, then jumped him, slamming him to the ground and twisting his arms up behind his back.

Even half stunned, the little bastard was strong. But Ivan had been fighting with Miles since he'd been three, and wasn't about to be bested by a clone that didn't have _half_ the drive that Miles did. He bared his teeth, digging his knee down into the small of the clone's back, then pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of his head.

"You'll recognise this," Ivan said. "It's the disruptor you so conveniently tossed away after doing Galen in." It wasn't, but the clone didn't have to know that. "And if you don't tell me where the hell my brother is right now, you'll have a taste of what Galen just went through."

The clone smirked, although it came out closer to a half-snarl. "Shoot me, and you'll never find out. Stalemate."

"And once the clock hits 0207 I have absolutely no reason to keep you alive," Ivan snapped. 0207. Galen had promised that Aral would die at 0207 if they didn't cooperate. Ivan knew that he was going to have nightmares about that for a long time. "So how about we do the smart thing, and you tell me where he is, and I keep you alive? Win-win."

"Ivan!" Rapid footsteps in the corridor. Miles.

"Two against one," Ivan said. "Odds are getting worse by the second."

"And how do I know that you're not going to kill me once I tell you where he is?" the clone demanded, his voice rising with familiar cadences of fear.

Eleven more minutes. "You don't," Ivan breathed. "You have to take our word for it."

The clone paused, and Ivan could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. He could hear Miles' footsteps slowing down. His cousin stopped, at a safe distance.

"Why do you _care_? the clone said at last. "It says on your file that the two of you hate each other's guts!"

Ivan felt the words hit him in the stomach like a punch. If even their enemies knew of it... "Because," Ivan said, conscious of Miles' eyes on him. "He's my brother." He felt emotion welling up, heard his voice go a little choked. "And even if brothers are stupid brats, even if they're hopeless, even if you're at each other's throats, they're _family_. And you don't leave family behind." He paused. Took a breath. "Just like your brother over there will do anything to save you."

He knew that his words had hit home by the sudden lack of struggle. The clone – _Mark_ \-- twisted to look over his shoulder, and Ivan let him, following his gaze to where Miles was standing in the corridor just behind.

"Mark," Miles said, and Ivan saw furious denial flash across Mark's face for a moment, before his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Down," Mark said. "Back the way we came. There's a pumping station. Second one in the corridor, number seven. We put him in there."

"Miles," Ivan said.

"I have an analgesic," Miles nodded back at him. "I'll stay here with him. You go get Aral. And take this." He tossed his rappling harness over.

He didn't need to be told twice.

 

By the time he got there, the first pumping station was already filling. Lights were already coming on on the second pumping station, as it prepared to go into action. _Too late, what if I'm too late?_ Ivan thought frantically. _What if I'm wrong? What if he lied to me?_

"Ivan," Miles said over the commlink. Ivan jumped. He'd forgotten all about it. "Have you found it? Have you found him?"

"Access hatch," Ivan said, conscious of the way his voice sounded way too panicked. "Hatch is locked... no, not locked. Just closed." He was babbling, a reflex action, but his hands were already moving of their own accord, punching in command to unlock the hatch. "He'd better be here. God, Miles. He'd better..."

He yanked the bar down. Shoved the door open. "Aral?"

"Iv.. brother?"

This time, he'd actually made it in time. This time, he didn't have to stand by and watch helplessly as his brother died horribly in front of his eyes. He could have wept with relief as he lowered the harness to his brother. "Here," he said. "I'm here."

 

Aral was cold, shivering, and covered in slime. Ivan flung his jacket around his shoulders, and frowned down at the wreckage of his brother's hands. Two hours. He'd spent two hours trapped in there, trying to claw his way out.

"I'm alright," Aral mumbled.

He obviously wasn't, but Ivan wasn't going to argue the point right now. "Lean on me," he said. "We need to get out of here."

"Galen... and the clone," Aral said. "What happened to them?"

"Galen's dead," Ivan told him. "And the clone... well. I think that's him, coming round the corner."

Sure enough, the sound of running footsteps resolved into Miles and Mark, the latter still limping slightly and leaning against Miles. "Cetas," Miles panted. "My guys picked them up on the scanners. They're closing in on us. And I can't contact Quinn or Galeni."

Ivan swore softly. "And Destang's guys are around too... what a mess."

Miles' mind was obviously on Quinn. He glanced around, looking panicked. "That way," he pointed, and took off. Ivan shook his head and followed, only to see Miles skid to a halt in front of the access hatch that led to the outside.

"Damn," Miles swore.

"What is it?" Mark demanded, peering.

"We're cut off," Miles said, through gritted teeth. "Tides' risen above the level of this hatch. We need to go back."

"But back is where..." Mark gestured vaguely, "... _everyone_ else is."

Miles slapped his wrist comm. "Sergeant, have you made contact with the Cetagandan squad?"

"Yes, sir," the response came, sounding harried. Ivan could scarcely blame the man. "They're holding down each of the three tower entrances, and there are more of them in the bushes outside. And they have plasma arcs."

"Any sign of Commander Quinn?" Miles asked urgently.

"No, sir. We got a fix on her comm, but she's not moving."

Miles barked orders. Ivan tuned out, glancing up and down the corridor. Aral's attention was rivetted on Miles, Ivan noticed, probably counting on him to save the day. Except that even Ivan wasn't sure how Miles was going to get them out of this.

"The Barrayarans are in tower six. The Cetagandans in tower seven," Miles said grimly, snapping his wrist comm shut. "They'll make contact soon enough – and with any luck, they'll knock each other out. The only problem, of course, is that we're caught in the middle... which means that we need to disappear." He glanced sharply down the corridor. "Back to the pumping stations. I have an idea."

Ivan shook his head, at the same time Aral said, "Too small. Won't fit all of us." They glanced at each other.

"We don't have a choice," Miles said. "We can split up – two of you can try to use another of the pumping stations. There were a bunch—"

"The first one might be empty by now, but the rest probably haven't finished pumping," Ivan pointed out. "There has to be another ..." He paused. A stray memory clicked. "The office that we passed through on the way in. There's a storage cabinet. Big enough for one person."

"Too dangerous," Miles said. "They'll almost certainly check there..."

"Not if they're too busy playing stunner tag with each other," Aral said grimly. "I'll do it."

"No," Ivan said, "I'll go."

Three pairs of eyes turned to him. He was somewhat annoyed to notice that they all contained mirrored looks of surprise. He could almost read the thought bubbles: _Ivan Vorpatril volunteers for suicide mission. Miracles never cease._

"If push comes to shove," he snapped, nerves making his tone a great deal more brittle than he would have liked. "I'm in the best physical condition to take on a firefight."

"I—" Aral started.

" _You_ are injured. And also a junior officer. In fact, all of you are my junior officers while you're on Earth, except for Mark, who's a civilian and doesn't count. So get moving." When they didn't move, he put on his best glare, copied directly from his step-father. "That's an _order_!"

" _Brother,_ " Aral said, and Ivan finally heard the note of fear in his voice. He glanced over. Put a hand on Aral's shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he said, and in that moment, he could believe it. "Team Vorpatril, remember? We don't lose."

Aral swallowed. "If you get killed, I'll kick your ass," he mumbled.

Miles opened his mouth to make his protest, and Ivan knew that if Miles so much as got in a word edgewise, they'd end up with a brand new plan that probably involved combat drop shuttles and half the Dendarii fleet, and they just didn't have time for it. So he just gave Miles a huge shove in Aral's direction, and glanced at his brother. _Go._

Aral nodded, grabbed Miles by the arm and Mark by the other arm, and took off. Miles was still protesting when they turned the corner.

 _Team Vorpatril,_ Ivan thought with a surge of pride.

 

In the end, it very nearly came down to a suicide mission. The expected clash between Destang's operatives and the Cetagandans didn't have the decency to happen in the corridor, like Ivan had thought it would. The game of stunner tag because a long drawn game of _let's shoot everything in sight_ , with the Cetagandans retreating into the office to take cover.

Ivan, curled up in the cabinet amidst dusty boxes, cursed his luck and tried very hard not to sneeze.

And when ImpSec came blazing into the office and all hell broke loose, Ivan wasn't entirely surprised when one Cetagandan, dodging fire, slammed straight into the cabinet and the door swung open.

He wasn't quite sure what happened after that. He remembered ducking, firing, the stunner power pack _giving out on him_ , yelling at the ImpSec men not to shoot, diving behind a table. A blur of adrenaline laced motion, and he grabbed a stunner off one of the downed Cetagandans. Then it was down to him, one ImpSec agent, and one Cetagandan agent. Who drew his plasma arc.

"Oh _shit_ ," Ivan said, very distantly, even as the ImpSec agent yelled, "Get _down_!"

The Cetagandan hit the trigger at the same time Ivan did.

*

White. White everywhere. The stink of ethanol.

"Ivan," a voice said, off to his side. Galeni.

Ivan swallowed back a horrible sense of deja vu. Maybe that had all been a stunner induced hallucination. Maybe none of it had happened. Maybe he would have to go through it _all over again_. And his throat hurt like hell.

"Ivan!" another voice, younger and more familiar, cried out.

Ivan shot straight upright. "Aral!"

"You..." Aral was hovering over his bedside, hands twitching like he wanted to grab Ivan's collar and was barely restraining himself. Galeni was seated off in a chair to the side, smiling very faintly and watching on with a glint of amusement. "You... _idiot_..." Aral said. "Shove over."

Ivan moved. Aral sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and buried his face in his hands. "Don't ever put me through that again."

"I could say the same of _you_ ," Ivan said. "Guess that makes us equal, huh." He glanced up at Galeni. "Uh, sir? What happened after--" he paused, remembering that Galeni had gotten separated from them early on, and hadn't been there when all the excitement had occurred. "Well, what happened?"

"According to Sergant Buswell, you had a little face-off in one of the offices in the compound. The last Cetagandan officer, realising that he was outnumbered, pulled a plasma arc – you stunned him just as he fired. His shot went wide, hitting the consoles, and set the entire place ablaze." Galeni was looking at him thoughtfully, but Ivan couldn't quite read the expression on his face. "You and Buswell got out, just barely."

"I kinda remember that," Ivan mumbled, looking down at his hands, and noticed the bandages on them for the first time. No wonder they hurt.

"The police were descending on the place by that time," Aral said, picking up the narrative at a silent nod from Galeni. "You must have split up with Buswell, heading back to us-- when we met you in the corridor you were just about passing out from smoke inhalation."

Ok, that explained the throat.

"Long story short, we managed to evade the police by slipping out one of the back doors. We found Commander Quinn of the Dendarii, and managed to meet up with Captain Galeni again, outside the operation zone..."

"And some Cetagandan friends," Galeni murmured.

Lieutenant Tabor, Ivan would bet.

"And, came back here," Aral concluded. Ivan suspected that he was leaving out some details, but at this point he didn't really care. They were home. Safe. He could sleep for a week, assuming Destang didn't kill them all first. There was just one loose end he was wondering about.

"Mark?" he asked. "What happened to him?"

"The clone?" Aral asked. "We dropped him off at a subway station."

"You let him go?" Ivan said incredulously. At least, he tried for incredulous. His voice gave out on last word and turned into a coughing fit.

Galeni nodded. Opened a hand, palm up. "It was, after all, part of the deal that you made with him."

"Right," Ivan said. "Right."

"Miles is off, with his fleet," Aral said. "He received his marching orders last night."

"And ... ah..." Ivan looked around. "What about us?"

"Commodore Destang has decided to wash his hands of the entire fiasco by escalating it to ImpSec command. In other words, dad." Aral looked vaguely ill. Ivan was fairly sure that he did too.

"So we wait," Galeni said, no comfort at all. Then, glancing at Aral, he apparently decided to have some pity. "The kidnapping would be a mitigating factor. ImpSec, after all, looks after its own."

"...Right," Ivan managed. "And I thought this posting would be an _easy_ one..."

Galeni gave him a sharp smile, and stood. "Well, and unfortuantely, life goes on. I'll see you later, gentlemen." He gave them a passing wave that might have been an analyst's salute, and left.

Leaving Ivan alone with his brother. Who cleared his throat awkwardly. Ivan glanced at him.

Words were apparently failing Aral. He stood, grabbed the chair that Galeni had left, and dragged it closer to the bed, before sitting in it. His expression, when he looked at Ivan, was extremely serious. "Thank you," he said, awkwardness sitting heavy on his tone. "I ... thought I was going to die in there."

Ivan could imagine it. Pitch dark and sound proof, with nothing except your imminent death staring at you in the face... perhaps it was just as well that Miles had let Mark go. Ivan wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself from strangling the bastard if he saw him again.

 _Not him,_ he told himself firmly. _It was Galen's work. And Galen's dead._

"I wouldn't have let you," Ivan said.

Aral took a breath. Rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together and looked anywhere but at Ivan. "I... also owe you an apology."

Ivan blinked. "Whatever for?"

"I ... doubted," Aral said, hesitantly. "I didn't think you'd care. Or that if you did care, that you wouldn't be able to do it. The whole time I was there, I was counting on our cousin turning up and saving the day."

"It could have been him," Ivan said, trying to keep his tone light to hide the way his brother's words made his heart hurt. "Miles was there too, I couldn't have managed it without him."

"But it was you," Aral said, glancing over briefly. "When you opened that door and pulled me out, I realised..." He clenched a fist, and exhaled very slowly. "I've been an absolute shit to you." He hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"Aral," Ivan said, trying to suppress the panic in his mind. Soul-baring conversations. He wasn't ready for soul-baring conversations. "You were the one who threw me out of the window when the kidnappers came for me. If not for me, you wouldn't have been in this mess at all."

"And the thing about... you know, the closet. I've been wrong about you. I've been wrong about you all this time."

Ivan spared a moment to hope that the room wasn't tapped and that no one was eavesdropping on this conversation. Closet. _Closet_. Aral probably had no idea how badly that last sentence of his could be misinterpreted. "I--"

"You're not worthless," Aral continued. "You're not useless. You've one of the bravest people I know. I'd forgotten how you used to—" he waved, gesturing at nothing in particular. "—protect Lessa and me."

Hero worship. He was even less prepared for it than he was for soul-baring conversations. "Um," he said, intelligently.

Aral looked at him, and sketched a smile. "Sorry. You're probably exhausted. I should let you rest."

"No," Ivan said quickly. "I'm fine. But it's just that ..." he took a breath. "You're right, you know. About the being useless part. About not doing anything worthwhile with my life." He looked around the room, as though seeing it for the first time. "I never really saw the point in doing more than the bare minimum. I think I'm starting to see the point now."

At least, he was seeing the fuzzy outline of a point. It centered around the adoration in the eyes of a pair of younger siblings, the silence of a pair of parents who didn't impose their expectations because he'd never really given them any reason to expect anything of him, except for a certain standard of mediocrity.

"I was... jealous," Aral said, and Ivan glanced at him. "You were the High Vor, the one who had everything, and you weren't doing anything with it. The one who could afford to do nothing except idle your life away. It was almost like you were doing it to spite father. Or so it seemed to me." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "But being High Vor means being a target, doesn't it? That's how father explained it to me, anyway. How it meant that it would be _dangerous_ for you to shine too brightly. Politics, and all that, all complicated by the fact that you're cousin Miles' heir... I didn't really understand what it meant to be a target, before today."

Ivan bit his lip. "That might be... somewhat true. But in the end, we're all still targets, aren't we? And maybe if I'd pre-empted a bit better, taken more precautions with Security... maybe if I was a bit more like Miles, none of this would have happened--" The words slid out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself mentally.

"There's no reason why you can't be better than our cousin," Aral said sharply.

Ivan opened his mouth to protest. "Oh, come on..."

"We used to beat him," Aral said, looking over. "Sure, it took three of us to one of him, or him and Gregor, but we did win sometimes. Team Vorpatril." He smiled, very slightly.

"Team Vorpatril," Ivan said, wonderingly. _We don't lose._

"You were the hero today," Aral said softly. "Not our cousin. Not to me, anyway."

"And not to Destang either, I'm sure," Ivan said, a feeble joke. "But..." he straightened up a little. "You're right. I can do better than this." And even if no one could beat Miles on his own turf, he didn't need to beat Miles on his own turf – there were plenty of other things that Ivan could do, untouched by his cousin's surprisingly long shadow. _Just wait and see,_ he thought at Aral, at his distant step-father. "I'm sorry about being such a useless lout," he said.

"And I'm sorry about being such a stupid brat," Aral mumbled.

"Don't be an idiot," Ivan said, and reached forward to wrap an arm around Aral's shoulders, yanking him forward and nearly off balance. "You're my brother. You're allowed to be a brat. Sometimes, anyway. But next time, warn me _before_ you throw me out of a window."

They shared a grin, the first one in more years than Ivan cared to count.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc.
> 
> A quick note about Ivan's ImpSec posting - it's never really explained in _Brothers in Arms_ just why Ivan is working for ImpSec, but I've taken it as a temporary assignment, after which he goes back to Ops. And this chapter really did spiral madly out of control.
> 
> Coming up next: an interlude, and then what should hopefully be the final chapter. (I know, I've been saying that since about Chapter 2).


	5. Interlude

Lieutenant Aral Illyan was twenty three when he finally had the conversation with his father that he'd been planning for years.

It was a snowy winter in Vorbarr Sultana, but his father's ImpSec office was well-insulated from the cold. It had to be, given the amount of stone and concrete between it and the outside world - HQ was hideous, but at least it was warm. Aral sank deeply into a chair while his father went over the report, all too happy to be off his feet after months of running from one end of the galaxy to another. 

"All in order, I trust?" he said, with a slight smile. Some people claimed that his father was unreadable, but Aral had the advantage of being family and knew all his little tells. For instance, the way his lower lip compressed could have been a good sign or a very bad one, but the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes quite definitely pointed in the direction of relaxed-and-happy, or at least, relaxed-and-amused. 

"Well." His father scribbled an annotation in the column and leaned back to look at him. "It does seem that you've managed to keep the Aslundians very happy."

It was the perfect lead in to the conversation that he'd come here to have. "Not just me, sir," Aral said. "I couldn't have done it without Ivan."

"Quite. I'll be putting in a good word for him with his commanding officer at Ops. The two of you have started to work remarkably well together." There was a glint in his father's eye. "And to think that there was a time when not a day would pass without both of you at each other's throats."

"There was," Aral said thoughtfully. "But that was before Earth." Which had been two years ago. Time really had flown. 

"Which you did mention wanting to talk to me about." His Da steepled his fingers and regarded him over the tops of them. "Was it personal or professional?"

In a bid to keep ImpSec out of the house, as mother put it, they'd gotten used to distinguishing Imperial Service business from non-Imperial Service business, a distinction that had carried over naturally to conversations with his father. 

"Not professional," he said, and it was as though his father flicked an internal switch, putting aside the ImpSec Chief persona for the time being. His entire body language seemed to become softer, more informal, and Aral mirrored it, relaxing as well. 

"Go ahead."

"You read the report," Aral said, not because it was in any doubt, but he felt the need to lay out some context. "You can say that Ivan and I put aside a lot of our differences after that mission. Well, actually, that's not quite the correct way of putting it." He considered his words a little more carefully - his father was exceedingly meticulous about precision, where it came to drafting reports. Aral considered the same precision to be a good thing in any form of communication. "Say rather, I was being a bit of an arse towards Ivan before that, and when he came to my rescue, it dawned on me that I was being more than a little unfair to him." 

"All siblings quarrel," his father said, with understanding. "Your mother and I thought it was a natural phase."

"Maybe," Aral said, a little uncomfortably. Fact of the matter was, when he'd made up his mind to talk to his father about _Ivan_ , he hadn't realised that at least part of it would inevitably end up being about him as well. And while he got on just fine with his Da, they didn't exactly do … heart-to-heart chats. "You see, there was that conversation that he had with you when he was… oh, fifteen. Which I overheard."

From the wince that his father made, he knew he'd recalled which conversation. 

"It took me a really long time to forgive him for that," Aral said. "And after that, it was as though that opened my eyes to all his imperfections. In truth, all it did was make me judge him - and, as I said, sometimes quite unfairly." He inhaled; exhaled. The years that had passed since the mission to Earth hadn't done all that much to blunt the guilt that he still felt, even though Ivan had made it abundantly clear - many times over - that he forgave him everything. In fact, if anything, Ivan seemed to blame himself for their estrangement. If there was anything that they were good at, as a family, it appeared to be blaming oneself. He glanced towards his father, who was still waiting patiently for him to continue. "I thought he was useless, especially when compared to Cousin Miles."

His father's lips twitched. "Everyone is an underachiever compared to Miles. This is not necessarily a bad thing."

He laughed. "I know that _now_. I swear that any of our newer Ensigns who spend any time in his orbit rapidly become inspired by him. It's terrifying." He scratched at a small thread on his uniform trousers. "I realised on Earth that I was wrong about the incompetence - Ivan's, that is. And I was wrong about him being a coward. I realised a lot of things that day, really." He glanced up to meet his father's eyes. "Did you know that he's afraid of being a target?"

"I had surmised that, yes," his father said. "And also that he's a lot more competent that he lets on. Your mother and I have been trying to convey to him for ages that it really isn't necessary for him to hide his abilities, but the message doesn't seem to get across."

"You see, that's where we need to talk about… elephants," Aral said.

"Elephants," his father repeated dryly.

"Motivations of men," Aral explained. The account of his father looking for an elephant to appease the Polian ambassador during Barrayar-Pol negotiations was an old favourite of his. 

"And what is Ivan's elephant?" his father asked, looking faintly amused.

"I don't think he knows, himself," Aral said, and the amusement dropped away from his father's face. "You see, Ivan has a lot of _de-_ motivators in his life. Trying not to be a target. Trying not to be a Security risk. Motivators… not so much."

"But something changed after Earth," his father pointed out. "It took a while for us to notice it - he went about it so quietly and calmly, after all, but it's all started to add up. He's leapt from middling obscurity to sudden prominence in his career. At this rate, he may well be promoted even before Miles. So, what happened?"

"Expectations changed," Aral said. "At least, mine did. You see, Ivan might not know it himself, but at least one of his elephants is family." 

His father drummed his fingers across his desk, looking thoughtful. "Your mother and I were always careful not to impose our expectations on him. Are you saying that might have been the wrong approach?"

"I can't say if it's wrong or right," he said. "But if everyone is going to start from the baseline that Ivan is useless and anything he achieves beyond that is a pleasant surprise… can you blame him for treating himself the same way? It's impossible to live up to expectations that don't exist."

Some shadow fell across his father's face, his eyes going distant as he searched through his memory for … goodness knew what. The flicker in his eyes might have been regret. 

"You should talk to him, Da," Aral said, and his father blinked and glanced back at him. 

"Yes," his father said, his voice suddenly a little hoarse, like it was catching in his throat. "Yes, indeed I should."

*

The office door shut behind his son, and Simon leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers to his temples. Years, he'd let Ivan believe that his parents had written him off. He'd never intended this result, never even saw it, but he really should have. It was startlingly obvious, when Aral spelt it out, although the cause of the rift between them was probably far more complex than Aral suspected.

He wouldn't have needed the chip to trace the path of memories that had brought him and Ivan to where they were today. He could practically see it every time he closed his eyes, a series of wrong choices and words unsaid, all piling one atop another. Truth to be told, it all seemed to collapse down to one single trigger point, a day when he'd been forced to make the impossible choice between his Emperor and his family.

He'd picked his duty, lost his unborn son. When he realised later that he'd also lost his step-son, albeit in a more oblique fashion, he'd thought it all part of a rather fitting punishment. After all, he'd chosen Gregor over his family; he hardly _deserved_ them. That he'd been granted Aral and Alessa later had seemed a gift he was hardly worthy of, and it followed naturally - or so it seemed to him - that he would never have Ivan, could never have Ivan, because he didn't deserve to have a family so whole and happy after he'd failed them. 

It all seemed incredibly, stupidly self-centred now. The cosmos didn't revolve around him. And Ivan was _Ivan_. Was Alys' first child. Was his step-son. _Not_ some force of cosmic justice. And certainly not deserving of being dragged down with his useless lout of a step-father, who, it seemed, was only capable of achieving baseline mediocrity in all the things that mattered. 

He needed to talk to Ivan. He'd needed to talk to Ivan twenty years ago, but perhaps there was still time. Too little, too late, was still better than _not at all_. Sighing, he made a mental note on his chip to remind him once he reached home.

And then, curiously, he forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I get a prize for evil chapter endings?


End file.
